The Beauty of Ice, Fire, and Intellect
by Shera Crawler 007
Summary: SLASH (if you don't like boys loving boys don't read this). This story hasn't earned the rating yet, but if things go well it will eventually.
1. 1

**The Beauty of Ice, Fire, and Intellect**

**DISCLAIMER:  I lay claim to none of the X-men presented in this fic though I dearly would love to have a Hank of my very own to love, hug, pet, give plenty of baths to (i.e. molest), and force to do my chemistry homework.  *heavy sigh*.  **

**NOTES:  Anyhoo, I have to warn you that this is not the movieverse and it's not the regular comicverse either, it's their illegitimate child with a few genetic mutations because I was raised on the X-men cartoon that used to be on Fox.  So I'll mostly show the X-men that were in the cartoon (with a few others if I'm really attached to them) they're the ones I'm most familiar with…I just write them better.  I loved the idea of the X-mansion being an actual school with lots of kids being tortured with Physics so I'm using that.  Rogue (if she shows) most likely will be the sweet one from the movieverse.  Um…I'm waffling on whether I want them to have the scarily bright spandex from the cartoons or the really hot leather that was in the movie.  My god does Hugh Jackman look gooooood in leather.  Decisions decisions *sighs*  Okay…I can't think of anything else.  If you see any probs let me know and I'll adjust the notes *G*  On with the show!**

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Ice was beautiful. 

Almost as beautiful as the secrets of the universe laid bare from the onslaught of a scientist's determined prodding.  He didn't mean ice like you found in the freezer, though even that could be beautiful if you knew how to look beyond the monotony of what the naked eye could see.  Watching ice form beneath a microscope was…well it was worth seeing.  

But there was more to it, there was the way the light shone off it in the morning sun, more precious than diamonds because this would only last until the seasons changed again.  The way it could bring a slow insidious death yet at the same time bring to mind ice skating and laughing pink-cheeked faces.  The way it crept over everything in its path, coating the world in grace and elegance overnight.

Hank sat back against the porch posts, carefully setting his beer to the side.  Really if he drank much more he'd be composing mind-numbingly bad poetry. 

Ode to frost.  

A few possible starting lines teased his brain and he resigned himself to actually committing it to paper later if only to get it out of his head.  He'd have to burn it afterwards; otherwise Bobby would find it. Then he'd be hearing bits and pieces of the choicer lines until he went gray.  

"Hank! What do you think!?"

Bobby stood beside his latest ice sculpture proudly, surrounded by the rapidly melting carcasses of a dozen others.  The short-lived creations of four hours of play being destroyed by the blazing summer sun.  

It didn't seem to bother Bobby though.  Getting Hank's opinion and approval for each one was enough to make his eyes dance as he moved on to the next with never a regret laden glance for his earlier works.  

Belatedly, Hank realized that he was supposed to give an opinion when he hadn't even looked at it yet.  He had been captured by the way droplets of water glided  down Bobby's bare chest, rainbow glitter dazzling his eyes when they caught the sun just right.  

Heaving a sigh he reached for his beer and looked.  His hand paused midair, the bottle forgotten, "It's…" 

He wished he had his glasses on so he could polish them right now, and for that matter a shirt to polish them with.  But with the weather so hot, sitting outside with all his fur in just a pair of cut-off shorts was just a quark over the line into bearable.  A shirt was out of the question.

"It's very nice, quite…artistic.  Is that a…thong?"

Bobby was giving him a very familiar look. How was it fair that he got those, as Bobby had put it once, 'aww lookit the old senile person' looks normally reserved for parents and the elderly when he and Bobby were nearly the same age?  

"Okay that's it.  Mr. Big, Blue, and Baffled, you and me have a date with a Playstation 2 tonight.  What do you say?  We'll stay up all night, eat twinkies, rent some horror movies to make fun of and then play Silent Hill 2 and Fatal Frame until it's so late at night we both forget we've walked in on Jean and Rogue pre-coffee and can't actually be scared by anything else anymore." 

After years of friendship, one learned that the key to Bobby was being able to skim over a conversation and pick out the pertinent facts.  Otherwise one may very well lose their mind trying to take in all the amusing but useless information.  

Skimming it, he translated it out to a simple explanation, the ice sculpture was something on a video game he hadn't seen.  Looking at it a little more closely, noting the large arms apparently strapped behind the things back and the lack of facial features…he began to wonder if he wanted to know.  "You bring the movies, I'll bring the twinkies?"

Bobby nodded excitedly and moved on to the next sculpture.  Hank hoped this time he'd be able to recognize what it was.  He scratched his cheek, stopping to look at his hand as he realized he was holding his beer still.  Maybe he _was_ getting senile. 

Smiling to himself he drained the bottle and rose to his feet to fetch himself another from the cooler they'd brought out with them.  

"Hank! Get me one!"  

As if Bobby couldn't walk the two feet to the porch to get his own, but in the name of politeness.  He bent to get them and froze when a familiar dreaded tingle started to spread over his posterior, he couldn't feel the cold yet.  From years of experience he knew it would take a few seconds before the temperature dropped significantly enough to bother him.  Bobby liked to give him a little warning.

Bobby.  Was. Going. To. Die.

Beer all but forgotten, he straightened and hurled himself over the porch railing to land with deadly grace on the wet grass below, "Drake!"  It came out a yelp that he wished was a roar, but it was extremely difficult to roar convincingly when certain parts of ones anatomy that should never be exposed to ice were trapped in a pair of tight frozen underwear.

Bobby was laughing, almost too hard to remember to run at this point.  The brunette finally got himself moving; dashing away across the yard.  Hank wasn't quite sure what he was going to do to him when he caught him.  Strangling was too gauche.  Tickling though…tickling sounded perfect.

It was damn hard to chase someone when all you wanted to do was dance around looking ridiculous, while ripping off ones clothes to get away from the cold.  He would have, except the children were watching them, giggling.  

So he settled for chasing Bobby back and forth across the yard yelling pg rated abuse until he was finally close enough to execute a perfect tackle, sending them both rolling across the yard.  

He pinned him down to the wet grass before he could slip away, carefully running the tips of his claws over his sides searching out the most sensitive spots.  

"Hank! C'mon let me up! I'll be good!"  Bobby was laughing, trying to squirm out from under him while uselessly batting at the hands tickling him.  

"You, my young friend, need to learn to control yourself! My undergarments are not your toys!"  

Bobby just stared up at him, already wide grin managing to get even wider, as a few obviously naughty thoughts flickered through his head.  Then Bobby was laughing, really laughing.  The type, Hank knew from experience, which would continue until tears were running down his cheeks.

His only course of action was the ultimate in underwear vengeance.  The atomic wedgie.  Juvenile? Yes. But dealing with Bobby often required it.

He struck lightning fast before the mutant beneath him had a chance to react, lifting him easily off the ground so he could slip his hand down the back of his pants searching for the elastic band to whatever sort of undergarments Bobby preferred.  All he found was silken bare skin.  

He slipped his hand down further thinking…he wasn't sure he was thinking at all really.  At least nothing beyond how good Bobby felt and how firm the muscle was beneath his hand.

Bobby wasn't laughing anymore, he wasn't struggling either.  Their eyes met slowly and Hank could sense…a rightness in this.  Like his hand belonged there-no that wasn't quite right.  It was like his hand _could_ belong there if he wanted it to.  He wasn't sure how he felt about that, but Bobby had the bluest eyes and for now that was enough to think about.

"Hey Big Blue! C'mere! I need help!"  Hank could hear the pout in Jubilee's voice, she was probably taking him up on his offer to help her with her chemistry class.  It was enough to shatter the moment and make him thankful that his bulk hid exactly where his hand was.  

Bobby's eyes dropped away a faint blush lightly brushing across his features as Hank pulled his hand away and rolled off him.  "It was laundry day you know...I didn't have any clean clothes."  

"Is there anything else you want me to get from the store for tonight besides twinkies?"  Ignoring the lame explanation and moving on was the best peace offering he could make right now.

"Surge too. It's great for dipping twinkies in."  Bobby grinned joining him in acting like nothing had happened but Hank couldn't help noticing that his friend carefully stared over his shoulder.  Feeling disappointed somehow Hank nodded, "Your wish is my command. Until tonight Bobby."

It was hard to concentrate on Jubilee but thankfully he could handle high school chemistry in his sleep.

***

His room was a filthy mess.  Bobby fidgeted and tried to kick some clothes under the bed, tried being the operative word because there was already so many dirty clothes stuffed and forgotten beneath his bed that he could clothe an entire third world country.  At the moment the only third-world anything getting a chance at his things were the dust bunnies that were alive, kicking, and rapidly multiplying.

If he looked hard he could probably watch the beginnings of a new race forming, hopefully this one wouldn't have to suffer through a William Shatner dust bunny.  With a shudder he flipped off his tv which was playing old episodes of Star Trek, after flipping through a few channels of nothing again just to make sure it was still working. 

He'd had an enlightening little chat with Gambit a few days ago about birds, bees, and why he'd glanced into the backseat of the cajun's car while on his way to his own and seen the redhead wrapped up in the arms of what was most definitely another man--or a woman on steroids.  _Lots_ of steroids.  

Ever since then he'd been noticing things…things like Hank.  Like Hank staring at him when he was busy doing other things, like Hank's hand on his ass yesterday, like the way Hank seemed to like having his hand in one of Bobby's 'naughty-don't-touch-me-there' places.  

And now he was beginning to notice that he hadn't exactly struggled to stop him.  Which was…wrong because he wasn't like that.  He didn't like guys, and he wasn't worrying about how dirty his room was like he thought he was bringing a date here either.  Not when the only thing happening was Hank coming over for twinkies, video games, and stupid horror movies. 

Bobby attempted to kick some more clothes under his bed, and no it still didn't work. So he picked them up and cracked his closet door open just enough to stuff them inside without the mountain of forgotten junk already inside falling on his head.  He didn't really need to ruin the evening by cracking his head open…although if he were going to do it Hank would be the best person to take care of it.

Alright so maybe he was acting a little like this was a date.  He certainly hadn't cleaned his room for Hank before, if you could call this cleaning.  He could almost see Jean glaring at him in his head.

A knock on the door, oh god it was Hank.  His heart started beating double time and he wondered if his friend would be able to hear it. But calming down just wasn't an option, not after he'd _cleaned_ his room for the guy.  

With a jittery spring to his step he went to open the door and peeked out at…Gambit.

The Cajun stood or rather leaned against the doorframe adding new depths to words like loiter.  New depths that he'd already contemplated over the last few months when he was bored and seeing Remy hugging his doorway was still a new thing instead of being the norm like it was now.  

The only thing he wanted to contemplate right now was a certain redheaded mutant taking his whiskey and cigarette drawl, ass hugging jeans, and unbuttoned silk shirt that showed glimpses of toned chest elsewhere before Hank showed up.  

Considering the circumstances Bobby thought he could be forgiven for the fact that his voice was a little sharp when he spoke, because he knew from experience the cajun was like a cat.  When you wanted him there he was always somewhere else, and when you wanted him to get lost he clung like saran-wrap, "What?"

A slow honeyed smile spread across Gambit's face changing him from an exceptionally handsome man to an exceptionally handsome mischievous man.  Those red on black eyes were twinkling and Bobby had a feeling tonight was going to be a saran-wrap sorta night.

"Bobby! Just t'homme I want t'see!"  

Yep saran wrap.  Definitely.  Briefly he wondered if he could just freeze the rat and stuff him in his closet until _after_ Hank left.  With a sigh he decided he couldn't…there wasn't enough room in the closet.  Wait…he eyed Remy…he was pretty flexible…maybe he could fold him up and stuff him in one of his dresser drawers….

The Cajun waved a hand in front of his face, "Bobby, yoo-hoo y'home?"

Blue eyes blinked before focusing on the other mutant with a sigh and a reluctant smile because Remy was a friend too…even if he did want to stuff him in his drawer, "Yeah sorry, what Remy? I'm busy."

Remy smirked, "Wit' Hank."

"Hank's going to be here yes. For video games. Which means whatever scheme you're trying to drag me into forget it."

"M'not tryin' t'drag you into nothin'. Swear." It surprised him that the innocent angel routine was only ruined by the fact that Bobby knew better.  Remy had to be damn good to be able to pull it off without the devil eyes ruining it.  "Me n'th' boys were wonderin' f' you n'Hank were interested in a friendly card game."

The boys meant the older kids that Remy was teaching the hallowed ways of the card shark.  A friendly card game with them meant everyone cheated and everyone tried to catch the rest at it.  The best cheater won, lots of insults were thrown around as non-alcoholic wine coolers were guzzled and…it was actually a lot of fun even if he always seemed to get caught whenever he tried to cheat.  

Invitations were rarely extended and after a few months being allowed to play was beginning to take on a sort of superstar glory.  At least that was what the kids in his classes said when they were chattering before class, it seemed like Remy was always inviting him in.  As far as he knew Hank had never been asked…maybe he'd want to.  And the movies could always wait until after.

"Alright I'll ask him."  He hesitated before continuing, "We'll probably show up." Bobby  grinned and shut his door, completely missing the way Remy's eyes lit up. 


	2. 2

Remy lounged in his seat, legs spread wide in what could be, Hank thought, an invitation in certain circumstances.  The Cajun shuffled the deck with ease of long practice, giving the smooth sound of the cards layering themselves at his command a certain sensuality that one normally didn't associate with poker.  

Fast and fluid he moved, elegant long-fingered hands gliding with an almost inhuman grace as he worked his magic, playing to the crowd in every way.  Turning shuffling the deck into the main attraction as the crimson-backed cards flew through the air with a will that seemed all their own.  

The boys, Hank noticed weren't necessarily only boys, three young ladies were mixed in the crowd, two were actually there for the game but the third was obviously more interested in watching Remy than she was in the cards he was shuffling.  They were all swarming around the table chattering excitedly as they watched the Cajun with knowing grins.  

Hank recognized a few of them, James Blackwall and Steven Dunn were from the Biology class he taught Monday and Wednesday, he'd caught them playing poker instead of paying attention to the fascinating details of human physiology last Monday.  And Carrie Tyler, the girl salivating over the dealer, was his lab assistant on Thursdays.  The revelation that it was Gambit corrupting his students didn't surprise him in the least.

James nudged a boy Hank didn't recognize with lively over enthusiasm that nearly sent the poor child to the floor, "Dan watch him! He's going to slip a few under the table!"

Dan rubbed his shoulder with an irate sigh and took a drink of his Pina Colada wine cooler, non-alcoholic of course, "He won't do it if he knows you're watching for it you idiot!"

They were all so enthralled with scrutinizing the lithe redhead for some obvious slip up that they didn't notice when Hank and Bobby slipped into the two empty chairs at the table.  Only a couple actually looked up to see them when they heard the chairs screech as they were pulled away from the table, but even though they all didn't seem to be paying any attention to them, apparently they were all distracted to some extent, because that was when Gambit chose to make his move.  

Hank was the only one to notice Remy slipping two cards into his sleeve in such an effortless, understated way that he would have missed it if he hadn't been eyeing the intricate black knot work on the sleeve of the Cajun's red silk shirt.  Glancing up, red on black eyes met his for a few seconds, a slow smirk crept across the other man's face.  Not a trace of anything showed in his expression to acknowledge he'd just made an illegal move, just a smirk that dared him to say anything.  

Shaking his head, Beast smiled back letting his acceptance of the challenge show, his lips parted just enough to display the fangs that he'd been gifted with from his mutation.  They weren't good for anything other than an intimidating display, and they made brushing his teeth and flossing an absolute torment,  "Mr. LeBeau, I do believe those cards you relocated up your sleeve are much better suited to joining their colleagues in the deck. Don't you?"

The boys erupted in cries of "He got you Remy!" and "Not so slick after all are you mister?" as well as a few "I seen it I just was waiting to see if you saw it!"  Carrie just gave a heart-felt sigh and batted her eyelashes at Remy.     

Bobby slapped him on the back, "You already got him Hank, and I played him _months_ before I ever noticed him doing anything."

Remy chuckled and straightened up in mock-offense, "Y'wouldn' be callin' Remy a cheater now would y'Hank?"  He held out the arm that held the hidden cards to him, "G'wan and check den, wouldn' wan' my good name ruined."

Hank raised a shaggy brow but before he could reach out to check, Remy deftly undid the button on his cuff, and shook his hand…nothing fell out.  James reached over and patted his arm down for cards that weren't there anymore. "He's clean."  James sounded singularly depressed about this fact.  

Remy grinned widely, "Now who de liar, homme?"

"You are.  But we play with you anyway for some reason." Bobby was grinning, eyes dancing a little with good humor.

Hank watched in uneasy fascination as Remy seemed to brighten subtly under Bobby's attention.  

 "Remy like to b'played wit'."  The dirty smirk was enough to send Bobby's color shooting for crimson in seconds and the brunette scowled, "I didn't mean it like _That_. Geez there's kids around."

  
Steven, James' poker accomplice in Hank's biology class, shrugged from Bobby's other side gracing them with a particularly unconcerned glance, "Ignore it, he just does it to distract you."  Steven seemed to embody the very soul of zen at least he did until he opened his mouth again to shout in a particularly annoyed voice, "Deal already buttmunch!"

Remy gave a delicate sniff, "Real classy way t'put it Stevie. Jus' for dat y'not be winnin' t'night."

Steven gathered up his cards as they were dealt with a martyr's air, "I'm a precog, I know I'm not going to win, you cheating swamprat."

The redhead chuckled, "Den why y'play?"

Voice dripping with sarcastic wit, "The company. Can't you tell?"  Hank suddenly remembered why Steven was one of his favorite students as Remy slumped back in his seat clutching his cards to his heart in apparent agony, "Stevie y'such a mean boy, if I weren' so wrapped up in beatin' de pants off y' I'd turn y'over my knee."

"Turn me over your knee old man and my parents will slap you with a sexual abuse lawsuit so fast your head will spin." Stevie grinned, "I don't need precog to know that. Now _Play_.  I want to hurry up and lose so I can go watch Will and Grace."

Bobby shook his head, "Will and Grace comes on Thursday."

"De sad lil boy tapes it!" Remy grinned, "Why y'wan' t'watch dat crap for anyway?"

Hank grinned at Bobby and Steven's identical expressions of dismay.  Carrie even looked miffed, "You didn't just diss _Will and Grace_ did you?"

Remy blinked, "Didn' know I was gon' be lynched for it."

"I find it amazing how simple it is to be persecuted over complete and utter drivel. At least some of us have taste at this table." He winked at Remy and grinned when Remy winked back.

Bobby turned his outraged eyes on him, beginning to pout, "Hank…Will and Grace is…is the _best_ show on tv, there's never been a better show except maybe Batman and Robin on TV land!"

"Batman and Robin? That's it, you're not allowed to even _speak_ about Will and Grace!"  Steven glared at Bobby.  

"Sadly enough…compared to Batman and Robin, Will and Grace is a veritable masterpiece of wit."  

Remy put it in layman's terms, "Bobby…dat show s'jus' horrible, a dumb animal wouldn' watch it! Hell _Becca_ won' watch it!"

That of course attracted the wrath of Becca who looked up from her cards with a singularly venomous glare, anger making her gills flare, "Ya goin down for dat boy. All ya'll shup and let me whip his lily white ass fo ya."

Everyone seemed to quiet and Bobby folded out of the game, leaning over to explain, "She's been the only one able to beat him since we started.  Um…" Bobby quieted for a moment, "Hank…you might want to fold."

Hank glared at him and pointedly leaned away from him so he couldn't see his cards.  At least that was one reason why he leaned away…the more significant reason was because feeling Bobby's breath stirring his fur wasn't conducive to playing anything remotely suited for the eyes of children.

***

"I fold."  Those were two words that Bobby was becoming intimately familiar with.  They were the _only_ thing he was becoming intimate with.  Not to imply he wanted to become intimate with Hank other than in a friends-watching-bad-movies-together sort of way.  He was just going to conveniently forget he'd cleaned his room for the man.  

He'd thought when he'd mentioned Remy's invitation that they'd play a few hands then head back to his room for movies.  But no.  Of course not.  Because this was his life and nothing ever went like he wanted it too and plus there was a Cajun thrown in the mix which doubly meant nothing was going to go like he wanted it to.

Hank had taken losing the first four hands in a row as a personal insult to his intelligence, which had turned what was supposed to be an hour of cards and socializing into seven hours.  It was three in the morning now.  Remy's students in the ways of cheating had long since been sent off to bed, they had curfew at eleven.  

Once the minors had left, the non-alcoholic wine coolers had turned into Jack Daniels and beer chasers.  Well for Hank and Remy that was. 

Bobby was sticking to just plain old number nine Miller Light thank you very much.  He didn't even want to know what his subconscious might decide to spill to the two mutants across from him with a little liquor persuasion.

The last time he'd gotten drunk he'd been with Logan at some terrifying little bar that might tacitly be called a country and western place, full of men that made him want to rent Deliverance just to see if the movie could even compare.  The fact that he'd been able to notice this while he was crying into his whiskey about being dumped said a lot for how scary the bar was. 

Waking up the next morning in the floor next to his toilet had taught him two very important lessons.  One, Logan wouldn't know what sympathy was if it bit him in the ass.  

And the other lesson, the most _important_ lesson of all was:  Never go drinking with Logan and let him pick the place.  He'd been humming Conway Twitty songs for _weeks_.  

The other thing he'd been hearing about for weeks was what everyone thought about his crush on Pamela Anderson…apparently he'd told Logan he'd decided to name her boobs Tinky and Winky one night when he was really bored.  Which reminded him, lesson number _three_, Logan didn't feel the need to keep things his drinking buddies told him secret.  

The midget asshole.

He watched with mild fascination as Remy and Hank showed their hands. Hank's eyes lit up when he won, making him shine.  "I believe you now owe me four twinkies and another shot Remy."  Hank sat back with a smug smile.

Remy sighed heavily and downed another shot of whiskey before pushing the treats across the table to Hanks winnings pile, which currently was made up of three other twinkies and a bag of M&M's.  

Bobby pilfered the M&M's, watching Remy for a moment.  The Cajun was beginning to look snookered, and if _Remy_ was drunk then Hank definitely was.  

Bobby glanced at his friend, yep definitely drunk, maybe if he were lucky Hank'd start singing the periodic table song and give him something to use as blackmail the next day.  

"I don't believe…that anyone has mentioned why we play for twinkies?"  Hank tapped the twinkies in question making the cellophane rattle.

Remy looked up as he dealt the next hand with a positively wicked grin, eyes twinkling at him, "'Cause Bobby like de crème fillin'.  Bobby like crème fillin' lots don' y'Bobby? "

He could feel his face go red because he knew very well that Remy wasn't talking about twinkie filling.  Not with the velvety purr in his already sexy voice.  Only Remy could make him feel dirty for liking twinkies.  But he was jarred out of the embarrassment by one little fact…the fact that there was someone's foot on his leg.

Hank just chuckled, and the scary thing was…it was a wicked chuckle.  A chuckle like he got what Remy was really saying.  "Ah, you must not have witnessed him eating one then.  He likes to suck the filling out before he devours the rest of it. You could say…like is too weak of a word for his love affair with twinkies."

The foot was sliding slowly up, making it's way to his knee and Bobby groaned and buried his face in his hands before he spontaneously combusted.  

They were drunk and talking dirty and he wasn't sure but he thought it was Hank that was playing footsie with him.  After all Hank was the one with his hand down the back of his pants that morning. But Hank wasn't really a footsie kind of guy…he was classier than that.  So it could be Remy….  But Remy didn't like him like that so….

Bobby was just confused.  And he didn't think he should be enjoying this.  But he was.  A lot.

Remy laughed, and it was a laugh Bobby had never heard before.  One full of _things_.  Of promises.  Promises that made him shiver even if he wasn't like _that_. 

And he wasn't…just because he was enjoying someone's foot sliding back down his leg to wiggle under the cuff of his jeans, and any second now he'd know who it was.  Because if it were Hank he'd feel fur against his ankle….   

"Bobby.  Bobby look at Remy." The Cajun's voice was just the right mix of mischief and temptation that he couldn't help but tentatively peek over his hands, voice suspicious though a little strangled because _someone_ was playing _footsie_ with him! And he wanted to know who it was and not get distracted with talking, "What?"

He got smacked in the face with a twinkie for his trouble, "G'wan and 'ave a twinkie on me.  Much tastier den dem M&M's y'got."

Glancing down at the twinkie lying innocently in front of him now he could feel those devil eyes on him, daring him to eat it.  Hank was watching him too…and he was never going to be able to eat a twinkie again without thinking of this moment that was beginning to feel like a mix of gay porn and the twilight zone. 

Someone's foot made it over his sock and he could feel bare toes rubbing against his skin sensuously.  But they weren't Hank's toes.  No fur. And it was still turning him on.  

He looked up sharply and met Remy's eyes.  God.  Remy was playing footsie with him under the table.  Remy was flirting with him.  _Remy_ was a man.  Remy liked him.

He didn't know what scared him the most.

And he was getting really good at realizing the obvious, now if only he could translate what he knew over to something easy to understand.  Like…Remy was doing this because of…twinkie poisoning or something.  Temporary insanity by twinkie! 

Shifting uncomfortably he pushed the twinkie away with a finger like it was poisoned, "I think I'll stick to M&M's…thanks."  He glared at Remy, and forced himself to pull his leg away from Remy's foot.  "Um…cards?  You need to pick up your cards to play. You know poker.  The game we were playing?" He grinned weakly and hid behind his cards.

They both erupted in laughter and the sudden tension that had filled the room evaporated as they all picked up their cards. Remy didn't look the least bit upset at having his foot rejected.  

Bobby stayed silent, happy to lose, and give Remy confused little glances every five seconds.  At least he was until he glanced up just in time to see Remy tucking a card into his shirtsleeve.  It was so obvious that it couldn't be anything other than the fact Remy was drunk that Bobby had been able to see it, the Cajun was usually too damn smooth.   

"You're cheating Remy, you've got a card up your sleeve!" Bobby grinned, confusion temporarily forgotten as he enjoyed the warm buzz of victory and Miller Light.

Remy gave him a pained look, "All y't'ink Remy always got a card up 'is sleeve."  

"That may perhaps be because we continuously seem to observe you hoarding them there Remy." Hank grinned toothily, "Hold out your arm and allow Bobby to check."

Remy sighed heavily and offered his wrist, waiting silently as Bobby slid shaky fingers under the cuff feeling for the cards which of course weren't there.  What _was_ there was skin…lots of hot smooth skin with a light dusting of hair.  He could feel the Cajun's pulse beating against his fingers and for a moment he wanted to lick it.  Taste it.

Shaking himself he gave his beer bottle a betrayed look, if he was _thinking_ these things drinking beer he'd be _doing_ them if he were drinking whiskey.  He was _never_ going to touch alcohol again.  

"Y' jus' wantin' t'get in my shirt Bobby."  

Only Remy could make you feel dirty for touching his wrist…well actually he felt dirty because Remy was so damn right.  His face felt like it was on fire but his pride refused to let him pull his hand away any faster than was normal.  

"You've obviously secreted them somewhere else about your person."  There was a grin in Hank's voice…and something else.  Something Bobby didn't think he'd heard before.

Remy laughed and stood, holding his arms out in invitation, "Y'wan' t'strip search me Hank?  Remy don' mind, he know he irresistible."

Remy was standing there, an open invitation to something hot and wet that Bobby just didn't want to want.  And Hank's eyes moved between the two of them with a quiet intensity before landing squarely on Bobby, burning through them with more things Bobby didn't want to want.

It was all too much for him and he bolted from the table with a whimper leaving Hank and Remy staring after him as he went in search of someplace to hide

***

Hank looked at Remy and Remy gazed back as they shared a moment of perfect understanding while Remy dealt another hand.  

"Y' t'ink my foot on 'is leg was t'much Hank?"

The larger man shrugged and took another shot of Jack Daniels, "We should find him."  His calm demeanor was betrayed for a façade only by his claws tapping impatiently at the bottle.

Remy nodded and picked up his cards, "Give 'im awhile t'think."

There was silence for a few moments while Hank lost and another hand was dealt.

"You like him too?"  Hank was carefully studying his hand, shifting cards here and there into likely pairs before mixing them all up again, he looked up in time to see the slow nod.

"Scott 'ad me pissed one night…an' Bobby found me drinkin'.  Almost made me snort whiskey through my nose he 'ad me laughin' so hard."  Remy looked at him, gaze an odd mix of humor and solemnity giving his words more meaning than was strictly there, the blatant sensuality he usually gave off still present but for the moment muted.  He broke out into a grin and shook his head.

Hank nodded sagely, "He seems to enjoy freezing my undergarments. And coffee.  And-." He paused because the list could go on forever, "Well just between us…it's rather endearing."

Remy chuckled and it was like a switch had been thrown.  Whatever they had been sharing petered away and Remy was once again his usual self.  As his lab assistant had once put it, walking sex.  For Hank that meant untouchable. 

"Den…may de best man win."

The Cajun threw down his cards, and stood graceful as a cat, stretching in a way that showed off his body to perfection, "I t'ink de boy 'ad enough time t'brood."

He glanced down at the cards…four of a kind aces which of course beat out Hank's pair of twos.  

A nice accent to the challenge Remy had laid down, but Hank wasn't going to let it bother him.  After all, the human heart was a little harder to manipulate than an inert object…and Hank'd had years of friendship with Bobby that Remy just couldn't compete with. 

With a smug little smile Hank rose and followed the Cajun at a sedate pace.

***

  
Warmth.  Warmth and hard muscles enveloped in sleek silken fur beneath his cheek.

"Mrf?"  Asking questions when your face was smashed into drool soaked fur didn't work very well.  He wiped a bit at the drool, poor Hank. Arms were wrapped around him and he was lying on top of his friend.  Cracking an eye open cautiously he peered up the expanse of broad blue chest at a peacefully sleeping face. 

What the hell had- oh.  Now he remembered the card game last night, but it still didn't explain how he'd ended up sleeping on top of Hank when he'd locked himself in his room the other night.

  
Bobby froze, face paling as he looked down, nope still clothed.  He breathed a sigh of relief and shifted his gaze to see Gambit stretched out beside them, also fast asleep.  Or faking it really well.  Bobby didn't doubt that Remy would be damn good at faking sleep.

The Cajun was the perfect explanation for why his locked door hadn't done much good keeping them out.  

He could freak out over this again and hide out on the roof.  After all it wasn't every morning you woke up sleeping on top of your best (male) friend, and beside your other (definitely male) friend in bed after you'd locked them out because they were both kinda sorta hitting on you. 

Kinda sorta hitting on you _and_ each other.  At least it had seemed that way. 

Which was why he'd been willing to forget the entire incident and chalk it all up to Jack Daniels because really…if you thought about it, it hadn't been like they were hitting specifically on _him_.  It was just kind of anyone that'd been in the room.  

There just hadn't been a whole lot of people in the room to hit on so it had _looked_ like it was just him.  They probably would have hit on Xavier the pot-belly pig, the school mascot, if it'd been in the room.  Lucky pig.

At least that'd been what he thought last night.  

Waking up on top of Hank could even be explained away if he tried really hard.  But there was no way in hell his theory was going to survive Remy yawning widely, stretching his sexy self farther out on Bobby's bed and _looking_ at him hair mussed, eyes barely opened, with a sleepy smile that made Remy look absolutely (kissable) adorable.  

He was graced with the Cajun's gaze for all of five seconds before those red on black eyes slipped closed again.  Remy obviously had decided more sleep was in order.  On Bobby's bed.  Nope that just shot his theory all to hell.  

Suddenly he wanted to run to the roof as fast as mutantly possible but Hank's arms were around him and he felt warm.  And comfortable.  And…things he didn't want to feel.  Not to mention sleepy.

He'd just…let his eyes slide closed like they wanted to…and cuddle up to all that silky soft fur…and trust Hank not to let anyone Cajun molest him while he slept.  Because Hank was honorable like that…and Hank also knew that if he didn't his underwear would never thaw for the rest of eternity.


End file.
